(A/N)It's almost done; only two more chapters. And they're almost written, so I'll even update promptly. On the subject of reviews, thank you to everyone who did review, and would anyone else taking the time to read this drop me a line? I'm still not entirely convinced by my Lucius. Or Narcissa's sudden bouts of philosophy, for that matter. Does it work for you?

Narcissa knew, with the surety of a diviner, that something awful had happened. She barely touched her croissant, and paid even more careful attention too her make-up to cover a pale face and heavy eyes. When Lucius finally got home in the middle of the morning, she was still there, because she knew she lacked the presence of mind needed for paying social calls.

He smelt of Bella's perfume. If it had been anyone else, or if it had been any other day, Narcissa would have let it go, determined not to care how he spent his time. But she had a deep feeling of foreboding and it was Bella, so she demanded, for the first time in their marriage, to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing.

"Why should my comings and goings interest you? I haven't cared to trouble you when you entertain Pyramus Austin unchaperoned three days in a row?"

Even as she shouted back, Narcissa felt a perverse pleasure that Bellatrix wasn't the only one who could get under Lucius Malfoy's skin. Look at that icy face now, all red and hot with anger. "Pyramus Austin! And unchaperoned! I'm a married woman, Lucius. I don't need an auntie hanging over my shoulder all the time to make certain I'm proper. But if you needed a chaperon Pyramus always brought Regulus with him. Or rather Regulus brought Pyramus."

Lucius winced at the mention of Regulus, some of the anger draining from his face and Narcissa snapped, sharper than she ever had at him before, "What about Regulus?"

"He was a traitor," Lucius snapped back defensively. "And you know how traitors are treated."

It hit Narcissa like a punch in the stomach. The order Bella didn't want to carry out but would anyway, Lucius's sudden distance from her family, and, most of all, the portents. Lucius reached out for her, offering comfort. Narcissa took a quick step back. "Get away from me. Don't you dare touch me with your murdering hands."

"He was a traitor," Lucius repeated harshly.

"He was Family." Narcissa backed out of the breakfast room. "The funeral will be a two weeks from Wednesday. I'll see you then."

"Narcissa," it was a command, and much as she hated it, Narcissa looked back at him. "What are you going to do?"

Narcissa knew her eyes were colder than midwinter. She was too numb for them not to be. "The world must know there is a price for interfering with my family."

"She's your sister. Isn't that Family, too?"

"I don't have any sisters. I am going to visit a friend. I will see you in two weeks, Lucius. I suggest you stay away from Mrs. Lestrange."

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Narcissa was shivering with reaction as she stood on the doorstep of Pyramus Austin's flat. It took a very long time to answer the door, and when he did his eyes were blotchy and red. "Miss Narcissa! You must be prostrate with grief. Come in, come in."

Narcissa entered numbly, and sat at Pyramus's kitchen table, while he fed her tea and rambling conversation. Finally her brain began, slowly, to work again. "Pyramus," she asked, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Would you do some things for me?'

"Of course, Miss Narcissa," Pyramus replied instantly, then continued with his disconcerting clarity, "You're going to make them pay for it, aren't you?"

Narcissa turned to look Pyramus in the eye, her mind already developing the perfect revenge. "Yes, Pyramus. They're going to pay."

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Mrs. Malfoy did, in fact, appear at Evelyn and Celia Parkinson's wedding. Her husband did not attend, and she was seen to give Mrs. Lestrange a direct cut. Dacia Woodworth claimed afterwards that she hadn't dear Narcissa smile once during the ceremony, and during the reception they learned why. Her dear cousin, Regulus Black had been brutally murdered the night before, for no reason that anyone could see. He hadn't even been robbed. Many people suspected Him, but Celia Clare, conniving even on her wedding day, saw the way Mrs. Malfoy looked at Mrs. Lestrange, and the way Mrs. Lestrange didn't look at Mrs. Malfoy, and drew her own conclusions. And, quite naturally, told them to anyone who would listen. Both Mrs. Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy left the reception early.

Narcissa stopped next at Grimmauld Place. Her aunt was miserable beyond belief, and Narcissa privately wondered how much losing her second, favorite, son would hurt her already unstable mental state. Her uncle would almost certainly have a fatal heart failure as soon he could ensure it wouldn't be suspicious.

Then she went to the Ministry. Jonathon Abbott was surprised to see her, but was too kind (Narcissa silently blessed Hufflepuff chivalry) to dismiss a damsel in distress, and was everything sympathetic. His superior, a Cornelius Fudge, was even more sympathetic and promised to see that the Aurors got on the case at once. His fat mudblood face to close to hers, he patted Narcissa's had, and consoled her in her loss. Bravely wiping careful, beautiful, tears from her eyes Narcissa produced a wan smile and thanked him for all his consideration.

Finally she returned to Ignatius Plaza, a quiet side street off Diagon Alley where all the best hotels were to be found. Pyramus had, as she'd asked, found her a pleasant garden room at the Virtus Draconus, and was waiting for her there, with an address. Narcissa thanked him, then told his to leave; she would see him tomorrow. He was clearly worried, but a lifetime's conditioning to follow orders held, and he left.

Narcissa was grateful. The spell she about to do was highly illegal for a number of reasons, not the least of which was its effects on unsuspecting bystanders. Remembering Andromeda's rather scandalized explanation of the theory to Narcissa and Bellatrix--that is, when Narcissa had heard the effects described, she remembered the look on--that is…. Tied up with thoughts of people who weren't family but had been, or people who were family but hadn't been (Lucius's face drifted across her mind, cold, disgusted, sneering), Narcissa paused, staring out at the perfect wizarding garden outside, smelling lavender and honeysuckle as they wafted through the window.

Honeysuckle. Andromeda had loved honeysuckle, but Mama had always insisted that it was untidy and chaotic. Narcissa forced herself to finish the thought. Andromeda. Andra. Andi, sometimes, and after she went to school, at school, Drama. Bellatrix was no sister of hers, of that Narcissa was sure. But Andromeda had only run away, she would never, had never, sought to harm her family. Perhaps, just perhaps, Narcissa thought wistfully, she wasn't the only Black left.

The sun appeared briefly from behind a cloud and flashed off the mirror, bringing Narcissa back to the moment with a jolt. She had, as she had told Lucius, a duty to impress on the world the price for killing her cousin. She tucked the address in her purse, and pulled on a pair of neat white gloves. Pyramus, bless him, had seen to it that her things were transferred to the Virtus Draconus. Checking her make-up in the mirror, she lifted her head, sure that the image was tall and proud, showing no weakness.

Regulus's other flat, the one his mother didn't know about, was a shabby apartment in Cheapside, with a faint veneer of dust over many of the rooms. Only his study was clean, and even there the watery sunlight dappled through ragged drapes onto warped floorboards and tired, worn rags of carpets. In the closet were the robe and mask of a Death Eater. With careful fingers, Narcissa removed them. Finally standing over the red stain on the floor she pulled out her wand and a small knife. The spell was a long one, a droning chant far more involved than anything they ever leanrt at Hogwarts. It was more powerful, too, so much so that Narcissa could feel the air grow heavy with the magic she pulled around herself, gathering and gathering until at the end of the spell, she flicked the dagger across the back of her wrist and let three drops of her blood fall to the splotch on the floor. Then the power was gone, intent on its victim.

This was old, old magic, the sort that required blood for blood, and life for life. Regulus had already paid for the life here, and the magic recognized her claim to revenge him. It wouldn't kill Bellatrix, Narcissa wasn't strong enough for that, but it would create a compulsion, an inability to deny her part in Regulus's death. Satisfied, Narcissa tied a handkerchief around her wrist, and pulled her gloves back on.

As she slipped through the bedroom toward the door, a wave of dizziness overcame her, and Narcissa reached out to the bookshelf to steady herself. Old Magic took a lot out of a person. When her vision cleared, Narcissa found herself staring at the one of the few decorations in the flat. It was picture, old and rather worn, but still clear. Five children sat in a garden, all of them grinning cheerfully at her, blue and grey eyes laughing at her over the same nose. The pictured Regulus was little more than a baby, overflowing his brother's toddler lap, and reaching for a grinning gap-toothed Andra's curls. Narcissa saw herself to one side, looking rather adoringly up at a striking thirteen-year-old, who held a beautiful wand one up for the photographer to see, showing the bare, smooth skin of her left arm.

Feeling sick, Narcissa pushed away from the bookshelf and Apparated back to the hotel room as quickly as she could find the co-ordinates.